The Laid-Off Peripatetic (LOP)

I’m unilingual, unless Pig Latin counts. This is not a fact of which I’m proud, but it is truth. I suppose it’s because I attended Brewster High School where the business teacher was also the volleyball and football coach. Dee Depe, my English teacher extraordinaire, did her damnedest to incorporate a German language program into our curriculum. But it was met with apathetic acceptance by the school board, and we students just couldn’t grasp how it would benefit us.

I attempted Spanish in college, but the teacher was hateful and developed an immediate aversion to me. Probably because I answered “cerveza” when she asked what I had for breakfast. Anyway, she gave me a C- to ensure I passed, but also to ensure that I would never again take her class. Not that she needed to be concerned with that—she had a heart attack after finals and went to that Espanol lab in the sky. I developed a healthy respect for karma after that incident.

Anyway, that was a long, roundabout introduction to my topic: How to spend seven days in either Spain or Italy for free. All that is required is fluency in English and the purchase of a plane ticket. Oh yes, a passport should probably be on that list.

Pueblo Ingles is a company in Spain that recruits, what it calls “anglos”, to act as teachers for intensive English-speaking camps. In exchange for room and board, the 25 anglos talk. Yep, that’s it. Those paying for the camp are those who don’t speak English as a first language. And there is no escape—the company sees to that.

I was sequestered in Valdelavilla, a quaint mini-village in Soria, Spain’s wine country, which was occupied only by those attending the camp. The closest town was five miles and we were brought by bus, and therefore, trapped like rats. And if that’s how rats live, count me in. The food was delicious and plentiful and accompanied by bottomless bottles of wine at lunch and dinner. But the bar was where the real lessons took place. Somewhere in Spain a guy is walking around telling people that he is “hung like a horse.” And yes, I explained with gestures what it meant so he knew it wasn’t appropriate for a conference call.

It was good fun, I met amazing people and I can proudly say that the Americans weren’t the craziest anglos there. A few of the Canadians in attendance probably should have been medicated. I still have the moosehead key chain given to me by one of the more insane members.

Valdelavilla in the middle of nowhere